‘Another rich-boy volunteer, eh?’ he seethed. ‘I know your kind. Pissed away your inheritance, did you? What was your poison, lad? Tarts? Booze? Gambling? Chariot races? Can’t be bothered to get a proper job? If you’ve come here thinking it’s an easy ride, you’re in for a fucking shock.’

‘I’m not a volunteer,’ Pavo said, scraping himself off the ground. ‘I’m here against my will. My father was killed by—’

‘Shut up,’ the doctore thundered. ‘Frankly I couldn’t give a toss why you’re here. As far as I’m concerned you’re a fucking recruit and nothing else.’

Pavo kept his mouth shut. He had been beaten and spat on and shouted at by men below his station ever since a guard of Praetorians arrived at the camp of the Sixth Legion and placed him under arrest. The doctore didn’t scare him. Not much did now. Not after what had happened to his family.

He watched Calamus wheel away in disgust and pace up and down in front of the men, his voice echoing around the porticoes and travertine columns surrounding the training ground. Pavo noticed that the tendons of his bare feet were bulbous and distorted from years of fighting on sand.

‘This isn’t the army,’ Calamus said. ‘Gladiators aren’t legionaries.’ He shot a scathing look at Pavo. ‘If you want to spend the next twenty-five years digging holes and collecting seashells for the Emperor, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

One of the recruits to Pavo’s right laughed uneasily. Pavo watched Calamus glower and turn to look at him. He was a short man with cropped dark hair and a nose with a break at the bridge. He had a layer of fat about his waist and wore a plain, tattered tunic.

‘You! Name?’

‘Manius Salvius Bucco, sir,’ the man replied nervously.

‘Bucco? I know a Bucco. He’s a toga-lifter. Are you a toga-lifter, son?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Bollocks, of course you are! Are you a volunteer or a slave?’

‘Volunteer, sir.’

‘Want to be a gladiator, do you, Bucco?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Don’t make me laugh. You don’t look like gladiator material to me, Bucco. You look like something I’d scrape off my boot. Tell me, why are you disgracing my ludus? Murder someone and now on the run, are you? Shag your master’s missus when he was away on business at the forum? Is that it?’

‘No, sir.’ Bucco lowered his head in shame. Pavo squirmed. Although he felt sorry for poor Bucco, he was also glad that Calamus had found someone else to bully. ‘I gambled. Fell in with some bad people, sir. Figured I would enrol and pay off my debts.’

‘A gambler! What’d you play?’

‘Dice mainly, sir.’

Calamus smirked. ‘I should’ve known! You look like a mug. Only idiots play dice, Bucco. How much did you lose?’

‘Ten thousand sestertii.’